


quiet in the dark

by TheRealFailWhale



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Ancient Greece, Distant Parents, Dream mansion, Gay Feelings, Gay Romance, Ghost servants, M/M, Male Psyche, Retelling, Siblings, Wrath of Gods, can i live there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27982647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealFailWhale/pseuds/TheRealFailWhale
Summary: This is a retelling of Eros and Psyche. I love this story and I love gay romance, so it was clear to see I had to write this tale as a gay romance.When Psyche sacrifices himself for his sister, he goes to a place he could never have dreamed of.
Relationships: Eros/Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. lessons

**Author's Note:**

> the way I pronounce names in my head:
> 
> psyche = sigh-kee  
> arete = ah-ree-tee  
> phile = fee-lee  
> xanthe = zan-thee  
> kallikrates = kall-ee-kra-teez  
> aphrodite = either af-ro-dee-tee or af-ro-die-tee
> 
> you can blame assassin's creed odyssey for the way i say aphrodite

Since the day he was born, no one ever had any expectation that Psyche would be great.

The fourth child of a queen and her king, Psyche was their only son. His three older sisters were beautiful and accomplished, and expected to do very well for themselves. His eldest sister, Phile, was groomed from her birth to succeed her parents as ruler of their small kingdom. His middle sister, Xanthe, was closest in age and demeanor to Phile, and the pair were inseparable. The youngest of Psyche’s sisters was Arete, a beauty of astounding brilliance. Arete’s part in this tale will come a little later.

Because of the greatness of his sisters, by the time Psyche arrived in their family there was little use for him. As he grew up, he showed no indication of future success in anything of significance. He liked to read, but would never be a great scholar. He was fascinated by words, but would certainly never be a poet. He was athletic enough, not weak by any means, but would never be a great fighter or hunter. In short, there was nothing special about Psyche at all.

But his lack of greatness did nothing to diminish his happiness. Psyche was closest to his sister Arete, and spent much of his time at her side. Together they played in the palace and the nearby forests. They swam in the lake and marveled at the shining fishes. They watched from afar at stags and harts, wondering at the litheness with which they ran. At night or when the weather was foul, the siblings would read together in the library at the palace, challenging each other to find the most interesting book their parents owned.

While he was never short on joy with his sister, Psyche found it infrequently with his other family members. His parents, having no political use for him, made no attempt to disguise their disinterest in his affairs. They loved him, of course, but in the way you might love a goldfish: it’s something that’s around and occasionally you might like to look at it, but it doesn’t do anything useful. His older sisters paid him little to no mind at all. Phile and Xanthe had their minds set on making advantageous matches, preferably to kings from other lands. Phile in particular wanted to make a match with a neighboring prince, so that when she inherited the throne from her parents she might extend the borders of their small country.

So passed the first thirteen years of Psyche’s life. He was happy with his sister Arete, trying not to think of what he would do when she eventually married. 

When Arete was fifteen years old, she began to draw attention from those around her. If Psyche accompanied her to the market, he would watch as heads turned to follow his sister as she passed. If the palace hosted visitors, he saw the interest of the important diplomats. Psyche didn’t know why they were suddenly watching his sister avidly. She looked the same as she did every day, to him.

But the whispers began to spread.

Villagers would send requests to their queen and king, asking permission to lay eyes on their most beautiful daughter. Much to Phile and Xanthe’s annoyance, they were referring to Arete. Bemused but seeing no harm, the queen granted these requests. Soon the palace was flooded with visitors daily, as people from around the country came to see Arete. They brought with them various offerings, of plates and bowls, grain and fruit, and sometimes just gold or silver. All of them eagerly awaited their chance to see Arete, the greatest beauty of the Aegean.

Arete’s renown soon spread outside their country, and visitors from countries across the Aegean came to see her. Psyche, always at his sister’s side during these events, at first laughed at the awe of these people. To him, his sister was beautiful, to be sure, but she had always been beautiful. But as the whispers grew to something more, his humor dwindled. Some people began to say that Arete was more beautiful even than Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty. Having heard all manner of tales about what happened when mortals took praise in place of the gods, Psyche worried for Arete.

One day, after a year of visitors and gifts, during a lull, Psyche mentioned this to his sister.

“Are you not worried that Aphrodite will become angry with you?” he asked anxiously.

He and Arete were reclining on a chaise, sharing the figs that a recent admirer had brought as an offering.

“I cannot control what the people say, or believe, brother,” Arete said, pulling a strand of golden hair away from her sticky mouth. “I make daily offerings at the temple of Aphrodite, to show that I do not believe what the people say. I don’t know what else I could do.”

“I suppose…” Psyche mumbled, licking fig from his fingers. “But shouldn’t you try to dissuade people when they try to worship you?”

“Do you really think that would work?” Arete asked gently, giving him a serious look with her dark blue eyes. “Do you truly think that if I told the next person to come in with an offering, they would accept it as truth and go to the nearest temple?”

Psyche considered this. He had seen thousands of people over the past year who were at least partly convinced that Arete was a manifestation of Aphrodite. Some thought her beauty came from the goddess directly, some recognized that she was just beautiful in a way that spoke to them. But the devoted ones were loud in their praises, too loud perhaps to hear Arete’s words.

“I guess you’re right, Arete,” Psyche admitted finally. He nudged her with his foot. “I just worry about you.”

“I know, Psy,” said his sister softly, before her face brightened. “But until people stop coming to see me, we can at least enjoy the  _ fruits  _ of their labours. Get it?  _ Fruits _ ?” Arete waggled a fig at him and Psyche had to laugh.

* * *

A few more months passed, and though his sister continued to make offerings to Aphrodite, Psyche grew more and more worried as the praise of his sister didn’t stop. The pilgrimages kept coming, and the wealth they brought with them seemed like too much. He began to hope that one of the princes would ask for Arete’s hand. Surely if she were married, her husband wouldn’t allow strangers to come gawk at her.

It was in this time that Psyche met a boy, whose name was Kallikrates. He came during a visit to Arete, but rather than gaze at his sister, Psyche was surprised when the boy spoke to him. He was a little older than Psyche himself, and he was beautiful. The attention he paid to Psyche did not go unnoticed by Arete, who spoke to her brother after Kallikrates had gone for the day.

“That boy, Kallikrates, was very pretty,” Arete observed casually to her brother as they wandered to the library.

Psyche fought a blush. He had noticed. Oh, how he had noticed.

Arete, who knew her brother well from spending nearly all her time with him, pushed. “Didn’t you think so?”

“Maybe,” Psyche mumbled under his breath. 

“Did you think he was prettier than a girl?”

Psyche whipped his head toward his sister, mouth agape. “What?”

Arete rolled her eyes. “Just answer the question, Psyche.”

Blushing harder than ever, Psyche nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling above them. This meant he didn’t see his sister’s eyes light up with excitement.

“I knew it!” she squealed and hugged him. “Oh Psyche, it’s your first crush!”

“But I didn’t think…” Psyche stammered, but couldn’t go on. He didn’t know how to say what was in his mind.

“What, that boys could like boys?” Arete asked with a chuckle. When Psyche didn’t laugh with her, her face became serious. “Oh, Psyche. Really?” When Psyche just nodded, still avoiding her gaze, Arete sighed and took his arm. “Anyone can like anyone, little brother. Boy and boy or girl and girl, or anything in between. Love is love, my little fig.”

Psyche spent the rest of the evening turning this new knowledge over in his mind. He had only ever seen male and female couples. At least, he didn’t think he’d seen two men or two women who were together. Perhaps he had, but without realizing it was something that was possible he hadn’t put them together. His thoughts kept coming back to Kallikrates. His lovely face, his bright smile, the way he had made Psyche laugh.

Yes, Psyche decided. He liked Kallikrates.

The next day, Kallikrates came back. Once again, he paid little attention to Arete. Instead he talked to Psyche, asking what it was like living in the palace, what he liked to do, where he wanted to go. At first Psyche was hesitant to answer these questions. No one but Arete ever asked Psyche what he wanted. But Kallikrates was kind and gentle, and the way he looked at Psyche…

Kallikrates and his family visited Psyche’s town for a week. As Psyche felt they were growing closer, he asked Arete to have them invited to the palace for dinner. Such a suggestion would never be considered from Psyche--his parents doubted his ability to judge people. But they agreed to Arete’s request, hoping that perhaps Kallikrates, who came from a wealthy family, would offer marriage to her or one of her sisters.

Another week went by, and Psyche gradually fell for Kallikrates. The boy, with his dark skin and black hair, paid Psyche attention of a kind he had never before experienced. As such, it is understandable that when Kallikrates kissed him, Psyche had no objections. He gave himself over to the wonderful and new sensations that Kallikrates made him feel, and it seemed impossible that anything could shatter the happiness he felt in those moments.

But of course, not every handsome boy can be trusted. 

When Kallikrates and his family left to return to their home, Psyche wept. He would miss the dark boy who had taught him love, and he didn’t know if he would ever see him again. His sister Arete was the one to tell him the truth.

She joined him in his room the night Kallikrates left, and Psyche’s initial greeting of welcome died on his lips when he saw his sister’s face. She was pale beneath her olive skin, and her eyes were large and dark.

“What is it?” he asked anxiously, pulling her to a chaise by the fire. She sat and stared at him, reaching out to hold his face in her palm. He was shocked to see tears in her eyes. Arete rarely cried.

“I’m so sorry, little fig,” she said softly, eyes locked on his face. “Kallikrates…”

Instant concern flooded Psyche. “Has he been hurt? Was there an accident on the road?” But Arete gently waved him down.

“Mother just told me,” and Arete paused to take a breath before continuing. “He’s asked for Xanthe’s hand. I’m so sorry, Psyche.”

* * *

He had little memory of the rest of that evening, nor the next week. He stayed in his room, and Arete either brought meals or sent them. She would visit him as much as she could, when not forced by their parents to sit for visitors. When she tried to explain that she needed to be with him, his parents instead sent for a physician. The doctor declared that there was nothing wrong with him, except perhaps an upset stomach, and that by all rights he should be just fine.

But Psyche was not fine. He was reeling from his first heartbreak, his first lesson in how another person can take your heart, freely given, and throw it in the ocean. He cried, alone or on Arete’s shoulder. He tried to swear off love forever, but she did not let him.

“Kallikrates was a  _ malaka _ , but that does not mean you will never find someone to love you,” she said softly one evening, smoothing his hair down his neck.

“I don’t want to find someone to love me,” Psyche insisted croakily, throat sore from crying.

Arete shook him a little in her arms. “Don’t be stupid, Psyche. Love can be a wonderful thing, and one day you’ll find that out for yourself.”

Psyche leaned back to look at his sister’s face. “Have you been in love?” he asked curiously. She had never mentioned being in love to him before.

She shook her head sadly but smiled. “No, I haven’t. But I know that someday I’ll find the person who is meant for me.”

Eventually, with Arete’s support, Psyche got over Kallikrates. It helped to learn that his sister Xanthe had refused to marry him, and he was glad to know he wouldn’t have to call the man his brother.

He returned to sitting with his sister during her visits with the public. Before Kallikrates, Psyche had watched each visitor with interest, wondering if any of them would propose to his sister. Now he stood a few steps behind Arete, and kept his attention on making notes of the offerings the visitors brought.

Several years went by, and Psyche’s eighteenth birthday came and went with half-hearted celebration. Only Arete seemed to be happy for him, or even to notice him. His oldest sisters were finally married, and Xanthe lived in another land with her husband. Phile still lived at the castle, but was often so busy with helping their parents rule that he hardly saw her. His parents did offer some recognition of his birthday. They had a special dinner prepared, but announced no plans for him as an adult. For all they seemed to care, Psyche supposed he could stay with his sister for the rest of his life, wherever she went. The thought made him glad.

On one slow afternoon, Psyche sat with his sister and they played dice. Neither of them knew quite what they were doing, but they’d invented a game they enjoyed. One of the guards outside announced that a visitor was coming, and Psyche resumed his position behind Arete, who straightened her dress and hair before folding her hands lightly in her lap. At twenty, she was more beautiful than ever. The curves of her youth had given way to those of maturity, and even Psyche now understood what brought visitors from all over the Aegean.

The two visitors who entered were plainly dressed in simple cotton clothing. The woman, perhaps around forty years old, had long blonde hair that was intricately braided, with small white flowers tucked into the strands. The man was much younger, perhaps her son, and only a few years older than Psyche. He had thick blond curls that fell to his shoulders, and lovely blue eyes that shone across the distance from the door to where Psyche stood. 

Psyche felt the breath catch in his throat when he met the man’s eyes. He looked hurriedly away, but he still felt the other man’s gaze on his face.

“Hello,” the woman said. Her voice was beautiful, and Psyche wondered if she sang.

Arete bowed her head and replied, “Thank you for coming, madam. It is kind of you to visit me.”

The woman laughed and moved closer to Arete’s couch. The man followed, but his eyes were traveling around the room rather than resting on her.

“Surely it is I who should be thanking you for allowing such a humble guest as myself to be graced with your presence.” The woman bowed deeply, but Psyche caught a mocking tone in her voice. He narrowed his eyes as he took her in more carefully. 

The clothes he had first judged as simple were in fact very finely made. There was a slight shimmer to the cloth that caught the torch light as the woman moved. The man was dressed in the same material, though of a darker shade. But it was the woman’s face that now held Psyche’s attention. It was...perfect. No stray freckle, no sign of real age, and her hair was braided so meticulously that he knew she hadn’t done it herself.

As a suspicion entered his mind, Psyche looked at the man, who was watching him. When he saw Psyche’s look of dawning horror, he smiled a beautiful smile. It was like an arrow to the heart.

He made a choking sound as he turned back to his sister and the woman--the goddess. He fell to his knees and bowed. He heard Arete gasp as he did this, and the goddess laughed.

“I see your brother has figured me out already. How bright he is,” said Aphrodite with a chuckle. Psyche risked glancing up at the goddess and saw that she was grinning at him. Her face was torturously beautiful, and he looked away.

“As I said,” Arete began as she also bowed before Aphrodite. “It is most kind of you to visit me.”

“How could I not?” said the goddess in a brittle voice. “When the people abandon me and flock to such an...earthly beauty, how could I ignore my replacement?”

“I have never desired to replace you,” Arete said, and Psyche could hear the fear in her voice. “I have offered more than half of the things people bring me to you, at your temples. I urge people, when possible, to visit your shrines rather than my simple home.”

“Oh I’m aware,” the goddess replied. She stepped up to Arete and began petting her hair. Psyche looked sideways to where the man stood, leaned against the wall. He was watching Psyche curiously, as though he was the most interesting thing happening in the room. The goddess continued. “But they still come to you, rather than to me. And I simply cannot have that.”

“Wh-what would you have me do, lady?” Arete whispered. Psyche could hear the tears in her voice.

“It’s simple. Offer yourself as sacrifice, and this will all be over.”

Psyche gaped at the floor, shocked by the goddess’ words. She wanted his sister to die? To sacrifice herself to the gods knew what? But a part of him was not surprised. The immortals were fickle beings, easily insulted and easily enraged.

What did surprise him was Arete’s words. “Yes, lady.”

“No!” Psyche cried, and he threw himself forward onto his sister. She let out a horrible sob and clung to him, weeping into his shirt.

With great force of will, Psyche once again looked on Aphrodite. He met her hard blue eyes and set his jaw. “Take me as sacrifice instead.” He felt Arete start and try to pull away from him, but he held her tight. “My sister will find another way to escape the attention of the people, but take me as your sacrifice. Please.”

The goddess tilted her head and considered him. He felt stripped bare, naked before such scrutiny. He wanted to hide, to flee, do anything to escape that horribly beautiful stare. But he remained firm.

Perhaps she saw his resolve, for with the barest glance toward the blond man, Aphrodite smiled and the fear her beauty had inspired vanished, replaced with simple awe.

“You are a good brother to such a sister, Psyche,” she said, and her voice was once again light and lovely. “I will accept your offer. In place of your sister, you will be sacrificed to a great and terrible monster. May your sister learn her lesson from your selflessness.” A wicked smile came to her face as she stared at Arete. “You have two days with your brother, Arete, after which you must take him to the high hill west of here. Leave him on the rocks and return to your palace, to live your life in comfort while he suffers in your stead.”

Without another glance at Psyche, the goddess swept from the room, only to disappear completely at the doorway. As Psyche held his sobbing sister, he watched the man move to follow.

“Who are you?” Psyche asked. He wanted to know who else had played a part in tearing him from his sister.

But the man gave only a small smile before turning to disappear after Aphrodite.


	2. what fools these mortals be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> interlude: Eros vows that his mother will not have Psyche

Eros followed his mother back to her home on Olympus. He watched as she shed her aged disguise, reveling in her eternal youth once more. Aphrodite paid him no mind as she swept into a sunlit sitting room, settling on one of the many cushioned couches that dotted her manse. She laughed her golden laugh as muses and nymphs arrived to offer them refreshment. Eros waved away all approaches as his mother seized a plate of apples and began to eat.

“Oh, Eros, that is the most fun I’ve had in an age,” Aphrodite sighed, resting her head against the back of the couch. Her radiant hair hung around her face, drawing attention to her wide blue eyes. “I truly need to walk among mortals more.”

“I don’t think that's necessary,” said Eros as he leaned against a pillar. The sun shone through the pillars and windows, warming his back as Helios crossed the sky.

Aphrodite pouted, but there was a devious twinkle in her eye. “Why ever not, my child? Afraid I’ll demand more of your love interests as sacrifices?”

“You won’t have him,” Eros replied calmly, not rising to his mother’s bait. “Psyche has done nothing wrong, nor has his sister for that matter. You’re only jealous.”

Green flashed in Aphrodite’s eyes as she sat up and hurled an apple at her son. He dodged neatly, never moving his eyes from hers.

“So what if I am?” the goddess snarled, face twisting into an expression that was still beautiful, but far more deadly. “The fools are worshipping  _ her _ , a  _ human _ . That cannot stand.”

“And it won’t,” Eros said. “I’ll see to it that Arete finds a quiet and simple lover, someone who lives far away from their city.”

“A farmer,” Aphrodite interjected, eyes still narrowed maliciously. “Let her lose the attentions she has grown accustomed to receiving, and  _ then _ we’ll see how she feels about her brother’s sacrifice. Maybe she’ll wish  _ she’d _ been the one to be sacrificed.”

Eros fought an urge to roll his eyes. “I will handle the sacrifice,” he said instead, pushing off the pillar.

“Will you, now?” Aphrodite asked, watching him carefully as she bit into an apple. Eros kept his face blank, but his mother still seemed to find something that satisfied her. “Very well. See to it. Be sure to arrange Arete’s relationship.”

“Yes, mother.”

Eros smiled and kissed his mother’s cheek. He then left the manse and made his way through Olympus. 

He had work to do.


	3. all for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psyche says goodbye as he prepares to sacrifice himself to Aphrodite's will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: uncaring parents, vague suicidal reasoning as psyche explains why he's sacrificing himself for his sister

Psyche was not surprised when his parents were more glad that Arete was safe than sorry for Psyche’s sacrifice. They thanked him tearfully for being brave enough to die for his sister, but he knew their tears were ones of joy. Either they were glad that Psyche the useless would finally be off their hands, or they were simply glad they would keep all their daughters. Psyche wasn’t sure that the difference much mattered.

Phile, his eldest sister, seemed disappointed that he was to be sacrificed. She didn’t say as much, but Psyche suspected that she’d had plans to marry him off at some point, and that by selfishly taking the goddess’ wrath for his sister he had greatly inconvenienced her. From what he could tell, Xanthe cared even less than Phile, though both of them spoke less of his sister’s safety than his parents did.

It was Arete who was breaking Psyche’s heart. She cried for the rest of the day, never going far from Psyche’s side. They slept in Arete’s bed that night (it was much nicer than Psyche’s), but Arete frequently woke him with her tears.

“I don’t want to lose you, Psy,” she whispered as he stroked her hair. He could barely see her face in the candlelight.

“I know,” Psyche replied. “But you’ll have a better life here than I would ever have had. I didn’t want you to lose that.”

Arete shoved his shoulder but immediately pulled him into a hug. “That’s stupid, Psyche,” she cried. “Just because you’re not happy now doesn’t mean you’d never find happiness.”

“I was happy with you,” he said gently. “But I wouldn’t get to stay with you forever. Phile would have tried to marry me off to someone I could never love, and our parents--well, they finally think I’ve done something right.”

“It’s not your fault they’re idiots, and it’s stupid that you--that doing this is what it took for them to see what a wonderful person you are.”

Arete continued to cry on him as Psyche reflected that his parents still didn’t think much of anything about him. It was a bit much for his sister to suggest they now thought he was “wonderful” but then, she’d always been the optimistic one.

The next day, their last together, was spent doing the things they loved. They swam in the sea, watched dolphins, ate fresh figs until their mouths were stained. They revisited their favorite books in the library, crying from sadness and happiness together. When he started to suggest something they could do the next day, he was stopped by a pain in his chest. There would be no more days. But rather than dwell too long on what tomorrow held for him, Psyche threw himself into creating as many happy memories for his sister as he could. He didn’t want her to see him sad or scared, or anything that would mar this day for her when she looked back on it in her future.

That night, their parents insisted they dine together one last time as a family. Psyche would rather have spent the evening alone with his sister, but he obeyed their summons. The dinner was extravagant and his sister Phile gave a toast, swearing that they would honor Psyche’s memory and his sacrifice every year. It was a nice gesture, one Psyche was sure hadn’t come from his parents, who had sat Arete beside them rather than their son.

Psyche was relieved when the dinner was over. He and Arete fled the hall and returned to her room, where Arete paced and ranted about their parents for an hour. He was grateful for her frustration on his behalf but he knew it was pointless. Eventually he stopped her and dragged her to the window, where they watched the constellations move across the sky. 

He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to waste a moment of this time. But Arete had cried too much that day to stay awake, and she fell asleep at the window. He brought a blanket to cover her and sat beside her, watching the stars glitter above them.

* * *

When dawn broke its teeth on the sea, Psyche woke his sister.

“What is it, little fig?” she asked blearily, stretching from her uncomfortable sleeping position. Then memory struck her and she cried again. Psyche couldn’t help it: he cried too. He’d wanted to be brave, to leave these last hours unspoiled by his own sadness for Psyche’s benefit, but his grief was too strong. Psyche wept with his sister for what felt like hours, but when they finally raised their heads the sun was barely over the horizon.

“Just a few more hours,” Psyche murmured as he watched the sky lighten.

He returned to his room and bathed. He dressed in his nicest chiton and his worn, comfortable sandals. There wasn’t much he could do with his dark, curly hair. He ran his fingers through it to drag out a few knots and then patted it back down. 

He looked around his room at his belongings. For an eighteen year old prince, he didn’t have much. Books mostly, and some clothes. A few bits that reminded him of his sister. A shell. A shark tooth. A dried fig that Arete had preserved for him. He knew there was no point in bringing anything with him, but Psyche still took the fig and put it in his pocket. If he had to face pain, the memento of his sister might lend him strength.

He rejoined his sister, who clasped his arm tightly as they went to meet their family in the front hall.

“I wish you weren’t doing this, Psyche,” Arete said, voice thick from crying. 

“I’m just glad that it’s me, and not you,” he answered, taking her other hand and squeezing it. “You’ve been the best sister a brother could ever ask for. I don’t know what my life would have been like without you.”

“You wouldn’t be going off to die as a sacrifice,” Arete mumbled and Psyche pulled her to a stop.

He forced her to meet his eyes and said quietly, “This is my choice, Arete. I could have said nothing to the goddess and we could be walking to  _ your _ sacrifice. This is the only outcome I could be happy with.”

Tears welled once again in Arete’s eyes but she blinked them away and nodded. They were quiet as they wound their way through the palace, until they met their family at the entrance. Their parents gave Psyche a perfunctory hug before latching onto Arete and holding her close. 

Phile approached Psyche and gave him the longest hug he’d ever received from her. Which is to say, not very long, but long enough for a deep breath. She stepped back and looked at him hard. There was no denying she would be an excellent ruler. Her sharp eyes saw much, and she knew how to say things in a way people would accept them.

“You’re brave, Psyche,” she said at last, giving him a firm nod. “I’m proud to have called you brother.”

He kept his ungrateful comments to himself and merely returned her nod. Xanthe’s hug was as brief as Phile’s, but she said nothing that wasn’t true. She also told him he was brave, but she didn’t say she would miss him. How could she, when she had spent so little time with him.

At last it was time for them to set off. To Psyche’s relief, only Arete would accompany him to the hill. The distance wasn’t long, but the hill was steep and rocky, and neither their parents nor their sisters were very athletic.

The day was warm and bright. Perfect weather for swimming, if they had the time. Psyche and Arete made their way to the hill, saying little. Psyche mostly stared around at the country he’d known all his life. The trees, the dirt roads, the shepherds and olive pickers. He would miss all of it, but he knew he would most miss seeing his sister grow into the woman she was bound to be. He’d never hear her children call him “Uncle Psy,” never meet her husband. He would have nothing but darkness and silence at best, wandering Asphodel alone. At worst…

Far too quickly, they reached the hill. They began their climb. By the time they reached the top, Psyche was sweating, curls dripping into his eyes.

“I suppose it’s better than freezing,” he said lightly as they came to a halt. Arete was looking out past the hill and the country just around their home. The world was wide and full of things she would get to see. Psyche smiled and reached for her hand. “You have to go now.” His voice was gentle but he saw Arete flinch.

When she turned, her eyes were dry. She met his gaze and he felt pride at the strength he saw there.

“I swear to you, Psyche,” she said in a harsh voice he’d never heard from her before. “I will not forget you, for as long as I live. You are the brother of my heart and soul, and when you go you are taking part of me with you. I love you, little fig.”

Arete’s bravery faltered for just a moment as Psyche hugged her one last time. “I love you too, sister. I may take some of you with me, but just the same I leave part of me with you. May it bring you comfort.”

At last they broke apart. There were no more tears to be shed. Nothing left to be said.

Arete walked down the hill.

Psyche sat, and awaited his fate at the hands of whatever monster the goddess of love had set on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> parents in greek mythology are often shit. "what's that gods, you say i need to sacrifice my child? no need for a reason, i'll just get right on that!" i'm definitely playing up this family's dysfunction but they'll never come back so i also didn't waste dialogue on them
> 
> also i'm obsessed with song of achilles which is why i'm leaning so hard on figs


	4. alone in a house in a garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psyche is spirited away to a beautiful meadow, where he finds what couldn't possibly be a monster's lair. But then a new method of "sacrifice" enters his mind...

The sun reached its zenith and Psyche still sat.

He was very thirsty after waiting in the Greek sun the whole morning, and he was starting to become impatient for his doom. The goddess had said to bring him here, so here he was. He’d held up his end of the bargain, so where was Aphrodite and her monster?

Psyche was hot, thirsty, and bored. He started to conjure up the different monsters he’d heard of in stories. The cyclops. A hydra. Evil centaurs. A leviathan. Any and all of these sounded horrible, but the anticipatory fear was wearing thin. Soon he’d just be annoyed.

At least his view was pleasant. He faced away from his home, not wanting to see if his sister was watching him wait on the hill. He looked inland instead, at the wide fields being farmed, the olive trees being tended. The land was beautiful, and he grieved for it. He’d never see it again, so he tried to look his fill until the end.

As afternoon came on, a breeze began to blow. It was a relief against his dry skin and he basked in the coolness that came with it. His relief quickly transformed into frustration, though, when the wind grew stronger. He looked briefly to the sea, but saw no sign of storm. The wind tugged at his chiton and sent his hair swirling into his eyes and mouth. He spluttered as he stood up, only to be knocked back by such a powerful gust of wind that Psyche finally realized it was not a natural wind.

He felt the air pull at his limbs, almost as though it wanted to drag him down the hill. Terrified, he wrapped his arms around the rock he’d been sitting on, hoping it would anchor him to the earth.

_ Relax, mortal. _

The voice came from all around Psyche, but his wide eyes saw no one. The wind once more pulled strongly on his body and the rock slipped a little under his arms.

_ I am here to take you away. _

This did little to relax Psyche, but he did finally understand what was happening. Was this the monster, though, or merely the messenger? He squeezed his eyes shut and let go of the rock.

His stomach lurched as the wind seized him, carrying him swiftly into the air. He flailed his arms, wanting to hold onto something for stability, but of course, there was nothing. They were rising higher, higher, the wind speeding through his hair and clothes to send them streaming out behind him. The ground was far below him now, and he felt his head go light with terror.

_ There is no need-- _

The wind started to speak but Psyche had already fainted.

* * *

When Psyche woke, he found himself in the midst of a flowering field.

From where he lay, his vision of the blue sky was framed by bright colors: the red of poppies, the deep purple of violets, the bright yellow of tulips. He could hear the sound of water nearby. He could hear the sound of birds, and he could hear the rustling of beasts in undergrowth. But what he did not hear was the growling or quiet, menacing footsteps of a beast. He held his breath as he slowly sat up and looked around.

To his astonishment, he was in a place where no monster could possibly exist. The field spread out as far as he could see, wave upon wave of beautiful fresh flowers that filled his nose with the scent of their fragrance. He saw nearby a forest, and beyond that a mountain, but not one that he recognized. He still saw no sign of a monster, no sign of the thing that would surely still come to take him as sacrifice.

Psyche stood and waited surrounded by flowers for sometime. He waited for something to come, something to shatter the beauty of the scene around him, but nothing did. Not knowing what else to do, he set off in search of the water that he had heard. The sound was bright and clean and he was reminded of his thirst. When he finally came upon the water, he saw that it was less a river and more a wide stream, but it was the purest water he’d ever seen.

Carefully, wondering if it was a trap, he scooped a handful of water and sipped it slowly. He had never had to survive in the wild before but he knew from tales he’d read with his sister--and his heart clenched at the thought of her--that you should never drink too much of strange water. But when the water trickled down his throat it was nothing but delicious. Deciding that he would die no matter what, Psyche drank more of the water until he was no longer thirsty. He wiped his mouth and stood, looking around for a sign of...anything. Whether of the monster, or just anything.

Far off in the distance he saw white. White stone. It did not look natural. Perhaps it was some sort of house, or perhaps it was the beast’s lair. Psyche squared his shoulders and chose not to wait any longer for his fate to come find him--he would go to meet it. He set off toward the white stone that he could see through the trees. It took him some time to reach it for the structure he had seen was much larger than he’d originally thought.

Finally, he came to a carefully cultivated garden, filled with flowers and vegetables, and his breath stopped when he saw the sight that awaited him. 

It was a mansion, a palace of astounding beauty. White stone and marble stood towering before him. The columns gleamed and sparkled, which he had never before seen in a natural stone. He could see through its doorways and windows into the interior. It did not look anything like what he had expected. He saw rich colors, signs of wooden furniture and more.

Should he go in? He supposed there was nothing else to do. Perhaps the beast lived in this beautiful place. There was only one way to find out.

Psyche went carefully through one of the doorways. He saw no sign of anyone, and indeed he wondered for a moment if anyone even lived in this mansion. It was clean, cleaner than any home he’d ever seen. Was it new? 

He turned to his left and stepped carefully on the marble floors. Through a doorway was a lounge, with deep blue cushions spread on the floor and several plush green couches. The walls were undecorated, just simple stone that was somehow more beautiful than any stone he’d seen before. The lounge’s window looked out on the garden he’d just walked through, framed by soft and billowing white curtains. He nudged one of the floor cushions and it felt stiff, as though it had never been sat on. There was another doorway opposite the window. Fear warred with his curiosity, but Psyche again pointed out to himself that he was to be sacrificed whether or not he explored this beautiful house. So he went through the next door, and then stopped abruptly with a gasp.

It was a library. A huge, beautiful library. There were skylights in the ceiling, leaving the walls free to hold a dozen dark oak bookshelves. Each shelf was filled end to end with books, some small and thin, some thick and tall. There had to be a thousand books in this room, more books than he’d ever seen. He carefully approached the nearest book case and looked closely at several of the spines. There were languages he couldn’t understand mixed in with Greek works--plays, poetry, histories, philosophy. There must be books about everything in this room. Psyche retreated from the shelf until his legs hit one of the soft red chairs that littered the room. He sat.

Suddenly, Psyche didn’t want to be sacrificed. He’d more or less accepted his fate until this moment, but here in this library he realized how much of the world he hadn’t seen and how much he didn’t know. And he  _ wanted to know.  _ It was cruel that he was just now rediscovering his drive to live. 

“For Arete…” Psyche whispered, hugging himself. He was here so his sister could live. He’d brought this upon himself. He’d asked for it.

He left the library quickly. Maybe it had been a mistake to come inside the mansion. The reckless bravery he’d found at the stream was gone now, replaced by trepidation. The monster had to be here somewhere.

He wandered through several more beautiful rooms, but he didn’t stop to examine them. He found a courtyard in the center of the house, brightly lit by the shining sun, even though it was surely setting soon. He sat on a stone bench beneath a lemon tree, the citrus scent sharpening his mind away from his melancholy. As he gazed around, taking in the gentle flowers, the small pond, the shining columns, he heard a distant splash of water.

Psyche bolted upright and stared in the direction of the sound. Was it the monster? Some of his bravery returned, and he straightened his back as he slowly reentered the house.

He crept across the marble floors, passing more rooms on this side of the house. These seemed more like daily use rooms: a dining room with a long, low white table with cushions around it; a pantry that was full of food. He stared at that room for a while, shocked that the monster kept food in its house. The idea suddenly came to Psyche that perhaps this wasn’t the monster’s real house. Perhaps it was a prison meant for Psyche, where he would be fed until he was plump enough for the beast’s tastes. He shuddered and moved on, arms wrapped around himself as he continued down the halls.

Again he heard a splash, much closer this time and off to his left. He paused briefly before approaching the most likely door. He touched the handle and turned it slowly. It wasn’t locked.

In a fit of repressed fear, he flung open the door and hurled himself into--

An empty bathroom.

But though it was empty, it was apparently ready to be used. There was a large metal tub filled with steaming water. There were bright white towels laid on a nearby bench, ready to be used. There were bottles of fragrant oil on a table near the door. Psyche stared around the room, baffled.

When a bar of soap floated into the air, Psyche screamed.

He tried to turn and flee the bathroom, but there was something behind him that prevented him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw--nothing. 

_ Spirits _ ? He thought in panic as the thing behind him gently pushed him forward. It stopped pushing when he was beside the tub and the floating soap came to rest on a small table just beside the steaming water. And then, nothing happened.

Psyche waited for whatever was coming next, but the spirits--if that’s what they were--did nothing. After a few moments, he felt a soft tug on his chiton. He muffled his scream this time and yanked his clothes out of the spirit’s grasp. It did not happen again.

What did happen was a resumption of the floating soap. It danced over the water, making circular patterns in the warm air. Some of the water splashed, as though someone had dipped their hand in and brought it up quickly. Then one of the towels lifted half off the bench before resuming its innocent position.

A bizarre thought entered Psyche’s head: did the spirits want him to take a bath?

His eyes darted to the objects that had moved. Soap. Water. Towel. 

He licked his dry lips before whispering, “You...you want me to bathe?”

The water rippled like a hand had trailed through it. The soap gave a small flip-flop on the table.

“Um. Okay?”

He was thoroughly confused but didn’t think that invisible spirits would try to drown him. It seemed like such an odd way to sacrifice someone. So perhaps they did just want him to bathe. He had been very sweaty while he waited on the hilltop.

Psyche slowly pulled off his chiton, his skin prickling as it was exposed to the air. He wondered suddenly, bashfully, if any of the spirits were women, and he blushed. Then he wondered if they were men, and he blushed harder. He quickly climbed into the tub, muscles relaxing automatically in the hot water. It felt...wonderful.

As though worried about scaring him again, a pitcher rose up slowly from the side of the tub, making no sudden movements. It dipped gently into the water and drifted over his head, where it tipped slightly, but not enough for water to fall on him.

“Uh, sure,” Psyche said, again telling himself that this would be a very boring sacrifice and that Aphrodite surely would kill him in a more interesting way.

Hot water sluiced over his head, plastering his curls to his scalp, which tingled from the heat. He relaxed further into the tub, the warmth seeping into his bones. He felt muscles relax that he hadn’t even known were tense. His eyes drifted shut as he inhaled the steam, thoughts of sacrifices pushed from his mind.

He jumped a little when a small scraping sound reached his ears, but opening his eyes he saw that the table with soap had merely been pushed toward him.

“Alright, I get it, I stink,” Psyche said with a chuckle. This was all so very strange, but as he bathed in the hot water, some of his apprehension melted away. It was hard to be scared when your body was so relaxed.

When he’d finished cleaning himself, a towel drifted to the side of the tub and waited there. 

“Guess I’m getting out now,” Psyche muttered and reluctantly clambered out of the water. He was quickly wrapped in the towel, and he reveled in its softness. He felt embarrassment flush through him as the spirit tried to dry off his more personal parts and he pulled away quickly.

“I’ll get that,” he said in a rush, drying the rest of himself alone. 

When he was dry, a glass bottle of oil approached him, tilting its opening toward his face. He leaned forward automatically and sniffed, his mind immediately relishing the scent of flowers and honey. The towel was pulled gently away from him and he watched as the bottle of oil tipped into invisible hands. He was amazed to see the outline of actual hands beneath the coating of oil, but his amazement turned to anxiety when those hands drew towards him.

“Wait, wait!” he cried out, backing away. He didn’t get very far before gentle hands steadied his shoulders and he tensed beneath them. “Do you really have to do that?” he asked plaintively.

The oiled hands made a soothing gesture at him and reached for his left arm, waiting for him to lift it up. He hesitated, awkward fear making his heart race. This was too weird, but he was starting to realize that the spirits were probably the servants of the house. Which meant they were doing this at someone’s orders. The monster? If Psyche didn’t let them do their job, they might get in trouble.

This thought made him steel himself, and with gritted teeth he lifted his arm into the oiled hands. They were warm and slow, taking care not to do anything sudden. Probably so he wouldn’t scream again.

The spirits at least seemed to understand why he was uncomfortable, because they oiled his arms, his hair, his back, chest and legs, but gave his ass and genitals a wide berth, for which he was very grateful. Male or female, he didn’t want an invisible stranger to grope him.

When the hands had finished, they rinsed off in the tub as another spirit came to Psyche with a new chiton. It was a lovely shade of light turquoise and when it slipped over his head he closed his eyes at its softness. He pulled the fabric away from his neck so he could get a better look at it. It wasn’t a fabric he recognized, but he nevertheless thought it looked familiar.

The bathroom door opened, and while he couldn’t see the spirits, he guessed they wanted him to leave.

As he left the warm air and scent of flowers behind, he smelled new scents in the hallway. Food.

“I get to eat?” Psyche asked, having forgotten his “plumping up” theory already.

There was no response from a spirit, but a door down the hall opened invitingly. He walked toward it, wondering if he was about to meet the mansion’s master.

But the next room he entered was empty of anyone but a spirit. Instead, what awaited him was a feast. A low wooden table was laden with fish, cheese, bread, fruit, vegetables, wine, honey, cream, and decadent desserts. It was far more food than Psyche could eat by himself, and he asked aloud, “Isn’t anyone else eating?”

Of course there was no response, but a cushion was fluffed and he understood that he was to sit there. He lowered himself to the cushion, drawing his eyes away from the food and looking around the small room. The table was large enough for four people, but there were no other cushions. The room had several windows that looked out onto flowers and a distant forest, but the sun was nearly set now, so several candelabras were lit, throwing warm yellow light around the room. Once again, the walls were undecorated, showing only smooth stone. There was another door that Psyche guessed led to a kitchen.

A glass rose on the table in front of him, and a bottle of wine was tilted over it. Not pouring, but asking.

Psyche had never really been one for drinking, but with this day he felt it was only appropriate, if not necessary.

“Please,” he said with a nod, and the glass was filled generously.

What followed was the strangest meal Psyche had ever had. The various foods raised themselves when the spirits were offering him something, and feeling that it would be rude to say no to anything, he tried some of it all. It was the most delicious food he’d ever eaten. He went slowly, still staring around in wonder at where he’d found himself. He watched as night fell on the forest outside, and he thought that perhaps the monster only came out at night. He found it difficult to swallow after that, and he drank more wine.

When he’d eaten as much as he possibly could, he politely refused when a spirit offered him a honey cake. “I’m so full, I can’t eat anymore.”

The honey cake was set down and the door to the hall opened again. Psyche scrambled up from his cushion, feeling stuffed. Out in the hall, it was dark but for a few candles placed at intervals along its walls. He hesitated until a door opened off to his right. 

“Guess that’s the next stop,” he said quietly as he approached it.

The room it opened onto was dark. There were no candles inside, and he couldn’t see much. From the light of the hall Psyche could see a low chaise, a richly colored rug, what might have been a dresser, and the largest bed he’d ever seen.

It was a four poster frame, the same dark oak as the book shelves. White fabric billowed around it, almost shimmering in the little candle light that made it that far. It was much, much too big for one person, he realized.

It was then that a new possibility occurred to him, one he felt like an idiot for not considering sooner. Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty. Why would she want a sacrifice of death? She wasn’t Ares or Athena, not the sort of god who would generally be interested in death. What if his sacrifice, the one meant for his sister, wasn’t meant to be his life. What if it was--

“No!” he cried out, and tried to turn and run away from the room with the giant, terrifying bed, but the hands that had up to now been gentle turned rough as they shoved him through the door. Psyche stumbled and fell against the hard marble and listened in horror as the door closed, and was locked.

He was alone, in the dark.

Psyche closed his eyes and prayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise it's not going where psyche worries it's going. there will be nothing non-consensual in this story. (except for when the spirits tried to dry his genitals, but they learned their lesson)


End file.
